


Forget Me, Not

by bluhawk



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Out of Character, Pain, Slightly bittersweet, Surprisingly, Vomiting, courtesy of me, kind of at least, more bad jokes, set after s01ep35
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluhawk/pseuds/bluhawk
Summary: “I’ll die, and a beautiful field of flowers will bloom over my corpse. It’s almost poetic.”How ironic: the plant-duck mutant has to be the one to help his friend not turn into a flower.One would laugh if it wasn't so horrifying.(My spin on Hanahaki Disease.)
Relationships: Megavolt/Quackerjack (Disney), Quackerjack & Bushroot, Reginald Bushroot & Liquidator & Megavolt & Quackerjack, Reginald Bushroot/Liquidator
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. I Need A Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? I'm actually trying to do a multi-chapter story? Let's see how this goes.  
> I felt compelled to do my own version of Hanahaki Disease, but at the moment it looks to be more of a story on Bushroot and Quackerjack's friendship. Oh well.
> 
> Chapter titles are from Jack Stauber!

Bushroot woke up early that morning.

  
Not all that early, to be honest – the sun was already shining upon the clear skies, but it was much earlier than any self-respecting supervillain should awaken. Stretching, he reached for the blinds to get a proper dose of sunlight, boosting him to get up and start the day. Once he felt strong enough, he stood from his makeshift bed and walked over to water the plants in his laboratory.For some time, he stood. Pondering. He could stay in his hideout until dusk, planning for his next course of action for hours on end, or he could go outside to cause some mischief. It’s true that walking out in broad daylight was one of the biggest mistakes any criminal could do. But he was not an ordinary criminal: he was the one and only Bushroot. Yeah. Smiling to himself, he snuck out into the quiet streets. After all, there had been no sign of Negaduck for weeks – ever since the mishap at the bakery – and the local police department was useless to stop him. It’d be a piece of cake.

  
And besides, St. Canard’s protector was “the terror that flaps in the night”, not “the afternoon”. 

  
He was still cautious, however, as he made his way through the streets towards the rather large botanical garden recently built near the town hall. ‘It’s like they never learn’, Reggie laughed to himself. Even though the garden was open for public, there was virtually no one visiting – especially at noon on a Thursday – so he felt confident sneaking inside, targeting the exhibition of invasive species.  
As expected, there wasn’t a soul present. Even the employees were gone, most likely driven to an early lunch by the lack of activity. Without wasting a second, he dug his leaves onto the soil, gently collecting the cores and roots of every plant he could manage. Each blooming seedling seemed to be calling his name as he moved over them with fervor. Just one or two new specimens could bring a scientific breakthrough to his-

  
A sudden, sharp sound from behind caught his attention. It was somewhere between broken glass and cracking bones – and Bushroot was terrified for not being able to tell. Tilting his head to see a shattered windowpane confirmed some of his suspicions. The intrusion clearly wasn’t a security guard ready to turn him into mulch, but that begged the question: who was it then?

  
_Had he been followed?_

  
Turning around faster than intended, Reggie found himself staring right into Quackerjack’s face (his friend once again with no regard to personal space), wearing his ever-present smile. But any relief he felt over seeing a familiar face vanished when he took a step back to have a better look. The jester was shaking and desperately clutching his sides, clearly in pain. Cold sweat dripped slowly down as a deafening silence settled in. Bushroot opened his beak to say something but stilled immediately. The unmistakable sound of footsteps could be heard, approaching down the hallway. Unfortunately, Quackerjack seemingly couldn’t stand quiet for another moment, and – his voice probably louder than he realized – spoke up.

  
“H-hiya, Reg! I, uh, I think I need help.”


	2. I'm not a Doctor but I think I might be able to Help

Their escape could’ve been described both as narrow and lucky, since Quackerjack was in no condition to run. Of course, Reggie could have used the surrounding plants to aid them, but that would literally be leaving evidence to a crime scene – and they couldn’t afford to be that careless now. So, they limped away, steadily but scared.  
Once they reached Bushroot’s hideout, he found Quackerjack’s curious attitude entertaining. Truthfully, he was proud of his small laboratory and all the plants he’d gathered there – it gave him a pleasant memory from the good in his life before villainy. Still, there were more important matters at hand, so he gathered his thoughts and spoke up.

  
“S-so, um, I, you know I’m not really, ah, a doctor, but I can-“ He froze mid-sentence when Quackerjack raised his hand, before motioning him to sit down.  
“It’s okay, I’m not looking to get a physical.” He chuckled, but it was weak, clearly forced. “I just need help recognizing a flower.”  
“Really?” Reggie couldn’t withhold his puzzled expression.  
“That _is_ kind of your area, right?” Another weak laugh.  
“T-true, but I was, well, kind of assuming you- your health had issues?”  
Quackerjack waved his hands anxiously, trying to find the right words. “That’s exactly why! The thing is, the flower- I…” His hands moved to tug at his headgear as his sentences became more and more incoherent.  
Eventually he paused. “Maybe it’s just easier if I show you,” he sighed, pulling his hat off carefully.

  
Reggie’s breath hitched.

  
Under the jester’s cap were flowers, _countless small flowers_ , covering the top of his head and spreading their roots towards his occiput. The plants reached higher as soon as they were uncovered, the stems curling like a scorpion’s tail. The blossoming flowers shone in a deep shade of purple, creating an impressive contrast to the duck’s white feathers. It almost seemed like he turned paler by the minute, like the plants were actively taking his strength for their own.  
Yet another uncomfortable silence settled in, until Reggie stood from his spot to reach forward. Delicately, he took one flower in his hold, studying it with a mixture of fascination and fear. “This. This is definitely a type of Myosotis.”

  
Quackerjack’s face appeared to light up at that. “Uh-huh? Can you tell me more? Are they poisonous?”  
His gaze still fixated on the plants, he continued: “Only a couple of species under the genus are dangerous, and I doubt this is one. The colour reminds me of M. Azorica, but those are pretty vulnerable and they usually grow near waterfalls…” He stilled at that, realization hitting like a brick. “Oh. Oh dear. You’re probably really dehydrated.”  
They locked eyes for a heartbeat, both looking somewhat nervous, before Bushroot dashed towards the nearest sink, filling the first container he could find. He handed over the water, Quackerjack downing it in one go. He looked a lot more alive after that, some colour returning to his cheeks. He smiled – the most genuine smile so far – and thanked his friend, newfound hope in his voice. But they both knew there were still questions to be answered.

  
“So, um. Does anyone else know?”  
“Nope,” the jester sighed. “Not Negsy, not even Mr. Banana Brain, and especially not-“ He couldn’t even finish the thought when a sudden, strangling pain squeezed his throat, the vase falling from his hold and shattering on impact. Reggie’s eyes widened and within a split second he was back by his friend’s side. At first he was scared he’d need to relearn how to perform CPR, but then the other began to have a coughing fit unlike one he had ever seen. He struggled to believe his eyes, however, when those same purple petals began falling out in sync with the coughs.  
It took two and a half minutes for the coughing to cease, but it definitely felt longer. After catching his breath for a healthy while, Quackerjack curled up to hold himself. Swallowing harshly to keep from crying. “So this really is it, huh. And here I was thinking my death would be more fun. Like drowning in a ball pit or turning into a plushie. But nope.”  
Still calming himself down, Bushroot knelt to grasp his friend’s shoulder. “C-come on now, I’m sure we’ll find a way to fix this. You can’t give up like that!” He was taken aback by a loud snort from the other, as he looked up to meet his gaze.

  
“Reggie, have you ever heard of Hanahaki Disease?”

  
When the botanist shook his head, he continued. “I read about it back in university. It’s an extremely rare mental illness with strong biological components, its first cases discovered in Kagushima nearly a millennium ago. There isn’t all that much documented data but the main symptoms are always the same: unrequited love, exhaustion, pain and, most importantly, flowers inside the patient’s lungs. It begins with coughing the petals, until the disease progresses and the plants begin overgrowing. They’ll either cause a collapsed lung, or simply suffocate the victim.” He paused, his beak forming a strained smile. “I’ll die, and a beautiful field of flowers will bloom over my corpse. It’s almost poetic.”  
Bushroot stared with his bill hanging open. He was certain he’d never heard Quackerjack so collected before. He was too sane, too serious, compared to his usual excitable and explosive attitude. ‘Is this what he’d be like as a psychiatrist?’ he couldn’t help but wonder. Honestly, it was somewhat terrifying.

  
“Is… is there really no way to cure it?”  
“Well,” Quackerjack nervously rubbed his neck, “the only cure would be to get him to-“ He stilled, face turning crimson within seconds. Reggie watched in silent amusement how his friend’s composure turned into nervousness. “I- I mean HER! Uh, them! Them to confess their, um, love. For me. Or at least return the feeling. Soooooo, I’d need to find this mysterious love interest, first…”

  
Bushroot couldn’t hide his smirk, nor did he even bother. “It’s Megavolt.”  
The blush only spread darker across Quackerjack’s cheeks. “Oh. That obvious, huh.”

  
He gave a hearty chuckle. “Considering the flowers on your head are commonly known as ‘forget-me-nots’, it wasn’t hard to guess. Besides, you pretty much live together now, don’t you?”  
The jester’s hands found their way onto his hat, pulling the ends meekly. “I am at the lighthouse more than I’m not, that’s true. But that’s why it’s so hard! We’re together so much and still!” As his whining turned into a desperate fit, he begun hacking up more petals – much to Reggie’s horror.  
“Quackerjack, c-calm down! Take a d-deep breath, it’s okay!” This broke his trance, and as he focused on the plant-duck, the coughing ceased. “Oh-kay, I uh. I think negative thoughts make you worse. Thank goodness you’re not a pessimist,” Bushroot muttered, more to himself.  
Breathing deep, Quackerjack nodded. “Right. But, my point still stands. I don’t think he likes me, like that anyways.”  
“Well, Megavolt can be…” Reggie waved his hand-leaves, thinking of a polite way to speak his mind.  
“Oblivious?” Quackerjack offered.  
Reggie gave a firm nod. “If, you know, you were to ask me, I’d tell you to be blunt. Ask him on a date. Confess your love.” Seeing the other was still hesitant, he pressed: “H-hey, at this point, what’ve you got to lose?”

  
The jester was silent for surprisingly long, until he sat up, glowing with newfound determination. “Alright. I’ll do it.” Then, he turned to his friend and continued: “But I'll need someone to make sure Darkwing doesn’t come crashing the party.”  
Bushroot simply smiled. “Leave that to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (did you know that this specific Forget-Me-Not is also known as Azorean mouse-ear? oh the irony)
> 
> Alright, I'll be honest - the next chapter will probably take some time since I need to get some schoolwork done before I can type it out. Hopefully I'll be done sooner rather than later…  
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading! Have a great day!


End file.
